


Press with Vigour On

by teprometo



Series: 2014 Summer Pornathon [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Claustrophobia, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Press with Vigour On

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 Summer Pornathon week six challenge, [Cycles](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/106395.html).
> 
>  _Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve,_  
>  _And press with vigour on;_  
>  _A heavenly race demands thy zeal,_  
>  _And an immortal crown._  
>  \- Philip Doddridge, Zeal and Vigour in the Christian Race.

Arthur wakes up.

Gwen’s fingers run through the water, the sleeve of her fine gown drenched. Her hair is streaked with white, and deep lines map history on her face. Arthur tries to reach for her but can't feel his hands. She has done a lot of frowning.

* * *

Arthur wakes up.

There is nothing. For hours that might be days that might be years, the world is black and cold and there is no air.

* * *

Arthur wakes up.

Morgana is weeping, her face pressed against a pretty, dark-haired woman’s breast. He strains to understand what Morgana is saying. In the end, he realises she’s just repeating, “I did this,” over and over as the girl he doesn’t recognise runs fingers through Morgana’s hair.

Arthur tries to say her name, but his tongue won’t move.

* * *

Arthur wakes up.

Merlin’s face is a blur for a moment, just the black of his hair and the sharpness of his chin, the curve of his smiling mouth—unmistakable even through Arthur’s cloudy vision.

Arthur can’t quite catch his breath; his lungs feel tired. He realises Merlin is talking and tries to hold a hand up, to tell him to slow down, but his muscles don’t work.

All at once, Arthur remembers what it’s like to feel when Merlin’s hand finds his chest, one warm spot in the immense cold that eats at him. The heat spreads, fills him solid through, and this time when he tries to reach out a hand, he catches Merlin’s shoulder, which feels remarkably strong and not at all how Arthur remembers him.

“Sire,” Merlin says on an inhale, and Arthur misses the laugh that’s supposed to lurk behind the title. Merlin’s eyes have become too serious.

It doesn’t feel wrong when Merlin presses his lips to Arthur’s forehead. It feels absolutely _right_ when Merlin’s tongue finds its way into Arthur’s mouth, wet and desperate. Arthur feels like he’s been hard for ages, like he’s been aching for the heat of Merlin’s body longer than he’s been alive.

He’s not wearing clothes, and soon, neither is Merlin. Everything is Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, _Merlin_ as Arthur’s cock is clutched inside Merlin’s arse, wrapped in the finest velvet known to man.

Arthur’s neck is wet. When he turns his head to find Merlin’s lips, he sees that Merlin is crying.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur says, and his voice is hardly a whisper.

Merlin takes Arthur’s hand and holds it to his chest, over his heart, and Arthur understands; _in here_ , he means. He doesn’t know why Merlin is so sad, but he wants to make him feel better. After Arthur comes, spending himself into Merlin’s greedy body, he gets his mouth around Merlin’s cock, sucks him until he’s crying in ecstasy instead.

Merlin offers Arthur his water skin, and Arthur recoils in terror. He never wants to see water again, and he doesn’t understand why.

They play in the woods, and Merlin puts on a magic show, knights and dragons battling in the palm of his hand.

Arthur starts to remember. He remembers Gwen in her ceremonial gown, hair long under her crown. He remembers his knights, sparring in the grass, their shirts cast off and skin red from exertion and the sun. He remembers Morgana, hair matted and skin sallow, the anger in her voice.

“Where are they?” Arthur says, and Merlin kisses him.

Arthur thinks he should grieve, should push Merlin away, but he doesn’t. Merlin’s eyes are gold and heavy with tears, and Arthur almost understands what’s happening, but that knowledge leaves him, too, until all that’s left is fresh air and sunshine and Merlin’s skin.

They fuck again, harder this time, full of something Arthur can’t name because Merlin has taken it from him, is keeping him safe. Merlin comes hard, arse clenching sweet and painful around Arthur’s cock, and his come splatters across Arthur’s belly.

After Arthur comes, Merlin collapses onto his chest, boneless and sticky. Arthur feels sad for a moment, and then feels nothing but contentment.

“Maybe you can stay,” Merlin says into Arthur’s neck, voice fragile.

“I will,” Arthur promises, though he doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a perfect day.

* * *

Arthur wakes up.


End file.
